Poem March 22, 1941 Issue

New Wine

ELIZABETH WOOLLEY

A night there was,
When, doubting and severe,
My weary thoughts contained in discontent
Escaped
In a thin cry;
And, like the Psalmist,
I trod softly midst the stars and questioned,
Where is the place of inspiration,
Where is its fountainhead?
Cannot a certain quantity be spilled as blessing
As I mount the toiling rounds of time?
Obliquely then, a vital, slender star came near,
And as I looked, the earthly spell dissolved in
No small light, no little love,
Or transient blessing;
For not divisible was I from light or Life or Love.
And in that sweep, that apogee,
That swinging song of all infinity,
There were transformed for me the sight and song
To Science.
Glowing as a grail, a sword,
It turned its unquenched brightness in the consciousness of all,
Trusting in its self-contained vitality
To amplify its source and its reality.
Love is the potency that pours
New inspiration through being
Universally;
New living and new wine.

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